Series 5, Episode 1

"Simple As Love"

It was a lovely wedding. Not, of course, as lovely as his own, but still quite lovely. Ambrose glanced at his wife by his side, and then his son, who was just starting to develop the Egan family curls. Kieran played with a piece of paper while Niamh patted his back, and Ambrose found himself smiling. No one had ever been as lovely a bride as Niamh on their wedding day. Though, if he was to be honest, he didn't remember much of the day itself; just Niamh, standing there at the end of the aisle, hand tucked in her father's arm, looking delighted and nervous.

Siobhan didn't look at all delighted as she stood in front of the congregation with her hands in Brendan's. She didn't look nervous either. If pressed to put a name to her expression, Ambrose would have to call it relief. Brendan wore a more wistful look. Subdued delight, perhaps. They were an odd couple, really, but Ambrose supposed they were all right. Not really his sort, but decent enough for casual acquaintances. It was good they were getting married, though. Thinking of the child, no doubt. Siobhan couldn't possibly get any larger, so the baby would be due any time. The green and purple flowered dress she wore was stretched to its limit. Poor girl. Niamh would be that big in another couple of months. This time, Ambrose was hoping for a girl.

Everyone stood and applauded, and Ambrose realized he'd missed the last bit entirely. But Siobhan and Brendan were smiling as they passed, accepting congratulations on their way out of the church, so it must've all gone off without a hitch. Father Chris stood at the altar looking beside himself with joy. It was disturbing how broadly the man could grin. He actually looked more delighted than the bride and groom.

They headed out along with the rest of the congregation, and as soon as they stepped into the cool, sunny day Niamh touched his arm. She nodded to Assumpta who was already hurrying down the road, her back rod straight, passing people without even a nod of acknowledgement.

"It might be all right," Ambrose suggested. "She's got a party to throw, after all. She's probably just in a rush to set the place up."

Brian stepped up on Ambrose's other side and gave a non-committal grunt as he watched Assumpta disappear behind the wall.

"I'd better go help her," Niamh said, and she handed Kieran to Ambrose. "Change him into something he can play in. And change yourself. I don't want to pay to have a suit dry cleaned if it can be helped."

"Yes, Mum," Ambrose said.

"Yes, Mum," Kieran echoed with the same sarcastic inflection as his father.

She shot him a sharp glare, but then kissed his cheek. Then she kissed their son's head and headed off after Assumpta. Kieran waved a hand and said a happy, "Bye, Mummy!" He was such a sweet little boy.

"How long is she going to play babysitter to Assumpta?" Brian asked, clearly not happy with the thought.

"As long as it takes, I suppose." Ambrose wasn't happy about it, either, but he and Niamh had talked it over…and over, and decided that they would do whatever it took to keep Assumpta and the pub afloat for as long as they could.

"Forever, then," Brian said dryly.

"Look, I'm not thrilled with the situation, but if Niamh wasn't there Assumpta would lose the bar."

"Maybe she should."

A typical Brian Quigley answer, and one of which Ambrose wasn't at all tolerant.

"What?" Brian asked defensively, after a glance at Ambrose. "Tell me I wouldn't run it better. If that pub were mine I'd be turning a profit by now."

It was probably true, but he'd also be serving fillet mignon and wine. The local population counted on Fitzgerald's for normal, good, Irish food. "We don't need it to turn a profit. We just need it to hold its own until…"

"Until what? She snaps out of it? This might very well be the best we ever get out of her, son."

Ambrose didn't agree aloud, but he could have. On the surface Assumpta seemed well enough, she ran the bar and placed orders and paid bills, she cleaned and cooked, and on occasion she actually talked to her customers. She even went out a couple of times with that rock star Niamh had been so taken with, though, from what Ambrose could tell, it hadn't really gone anywhere. But she didn't laugh and she didn't fight – that was the biggest change. When Peter had first gone Assumpta had been angry at the world, and she battled everyone that crossed her path. Now she just stood there, sometimes gazing at nothing, like she was nothing more than a shell of who she'd once been. The Assumpta mask without the Assumpta spirit. Eamonn called it unnatural, and he refused to step food in Fitzgerald's on the evenings Assumpta worked.

It was mental, but Ambrose missed that old Assumpta spirit.

"He might still come back," Ambrose quietly said.

"And leprechauns might give me a pot of gold. It's been six months. No, I doubt he even remembers there's a town in Ireland called Ballykissangel anymore. He's made his choice and moved on, and it's time she does the same. Or…time that we let nature take its course."

Ambrose ignored that last bit. "But that's the thing," he said. "I think she has moved on. You remember what she was like in school?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "Hellfire."

"And then, after her father…"

Brian nodded. "Angry hellfire."

"And then when she'd come back from school-"

Brian laughed. "Angry, dangerous hellfire."

"And then when her mother died."

Brian glanced at him. "Yeah. I see what you mean."

"Everything that touches her changes her. Assumpta isn't one of those people who bounces back."

"She doesn't bend, eh? She breaks."

"We'll just be at the pub if there's a problem," Ambrose said to the two teenagers sitting dutifully on his couch. Kevin had become an indispensable part of the Eagan family, willing to play babysitter at a moment's notice to Kieran whenever a crisis would erupt that called both Niamh and Ambrose to Fitzgerald's. And Alana, the plump girl with red curly hair and glasses too large for her face had become Kevin's shadow. More often than not Ambrose found himself paying them both.

"There won't be a problem, Mr. Eagan," Kevin said. "We brought some cars to play with and Kieran likes it when Alana reads to him. We'll be fine." He shifted Kieran to his other knee and offered the boy a truck from his pocket. Kieran squealed with joy.

Alana nodded, and gave a small smile. She would be pretty when she finally grew out of adolescence, Ambrose guessed, but he was fairly sure that wasn't why Kevin was so taken with her. Boys Kevin's age never looked farther in the future than their next meal. But Alana, for all her shyness and freckles, was a crack footballer, an avid car enthusiast, and wickedly clever once she felt comfortable enough in company to speak up. She could also drink a whole bottle of coke in one go – a talent that would win the heart of any self-respecting fifteen year-old.

"Right enough, so," Ambrose said. "We shouldn't be terribly late. Mrs. Eagan gets tired easily these days, but it is a reception, so it's difficult to tell."

"You're paying by the hour," Kevin said with a grin, "so stay out as long as you like."

Ambrose couldn't help but smirk. "All right, but no funny business," he said, and pointed a finger first at Kevin and then Alana. "You will not engage in any activities that will require confession on Sunday."

Kevin rolled his eyes and Alana turned a dark, painful red.

"And there's some ice cream in the freezer," Ambrose added on his way out. "Help yourselves."

It was a brilliant party, Niamh decided as she served up another pint of beer and glanced to Assumpta beside her, who was creating the perfect head for the next lucky bloke. Everyone was laughing and signing along with the silly 80's music, and half the pub had been turned into a dance floor full of moving bodies. Hopefully, they'd all remember the fun and good food and drink, make a return trip to Fitzgerald's. It had been weeks since Assumpta had scared off that last customer, and even so, most days people were reluctant to venture inside the pub.

Siobhan, red-faced, took a seat at one of the few remaining tables, and Brendan knelt down beside her. It was romantic how attentive he'd been – not just since the wedding that afternoon, but since the two of them started seriously…well, dating wasn't quite the right word. It was a new side of him that Niamh had always suspected might be there; a new, selfless side that was quite attractive.

Ambrose caught her eye as he came in and closed the pub door behind him, and he gave her a happy nod. Everything was fine at home, then. But, of course it would be with Kevin babysitting. Kieran adored him, and Kevin was a bit help – one she didn't know how she'd manage without. She glanced again at Assumpta and worried how things would be when the next baby arrived. Ambrose was right when he said that Niamh would have her hands full a home, and she worried how he would juggle his guard duty with helping out at Fitzgerald's without her. It wasn't as if the two of them blended all that well, after all. And…well…Ambrose was a good man, but he was well suited to policing, and not as well to customer service.

Assumpta shifted and Niamh immediately knew something was wrong. She followed her gaze and saw Brendan giving Assumpta a look tinged with panic. Assumpta nodded, understanding without words, and hurried over to the other side of the pub to whisper something in Michael's ear. He turned doctor right away, and threaded through the crowd to Siobhan who was leaning awkwardly against the table. The music was cut as Siobhan's pulse was taken.

Michael looked up at Brendan hovering over him. "Let's get her to my office. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, but this close to the due date, I'd like to be absolutely certain."

"Of course," Brendan said without hesitation.

It took the two of them to get her out of the chair, and as they led Siobhan to the door she called over her shoulder, "If I have to miss my own reception I expect all of you to give it the attention it deserves! I want legends to be told about this party to my child's grandchildren! Dance for us!"
A cheer went through the room, along with well-wishes, and when the door was shut behind them, the music started up again.

"You think she'll be all right?" Assumpta asked quietly. Niamh was surprised by how anxious she looked.

Ambrose took a seat at the bar, and Niamh gave him a pint.

"Just a bit short of breath," he said. "As big as she is, it's little wonder, really."

"I'll be the same soon," Niamh said, with a hand to her own belly. The baby had kicked all afternoon and was finally resting comfortably against her bladder. Well, comfortably for it. Soon she'd have to make her sixth loo break of the night.

"About that," Ambrose said as he leaned closer. He looked at Assumpta, but she was busy at the other end of the bar. "Have you given any more thought to-"

"I have. And maybe my father-"

"It can't be him," Ambrose insisted. "He'll take over here. It would be called Quigley's within a week. Assumpta will lose the bar as surely if we'd never-"

"Well, I don't know!"

"What about my mother?" Ambrose suggested, but Niamh was horrified.

"Oh, God, no."

Assumpta glanced over at them, and they both gave her a happy smile. She frowned and went back to customers.

"Your father's right, Niamh. We can't babysit her forever."

"We need a Kevin for Assumpta." And then Niamh realized what she'd said, and it all slipped into place. "He's what? Fifteen?"

"He's not ready for a job like this," Ambrose objected.

"We'll break him in slowly." And, the more Niamh thought about it, the more she knew it was perfect. Kevin could work after school, and start to learn the job while Niamh was still mobile…and once the new baby came he'd be poised to step in. And, it wasn't like Assumpta was helpless. She just needed help. A calm head. A buffer between her and the customers. A reminder to breathe every now and again. A nudge out of the frozen stare she sometimes got lost in.

Niamh reached over and tugged Assumpta's sleeve, and without warning she jerked away from Niamh and fled into the kitchen.

"All right, Mrs. Egan," Ambrose said when Niamh sighed. "It's my turn, I believe. You have the bar, so I'll go see to our girl."

Just as he disappeared into the kitchen the phone rang, and Niamh hurried over.

"Fitzgerald's!" she yelled into the receiver over the talking and singing and music. "What? What, now? She's having the baby now? Quiet, everyone! Quiet! Siobhan is having the baby now!" The room erupted in cheers. "Oh, Brendan, congratulations!" He sounded just the proper proportion of thrilled and anxious.

When she hung the receiver up, everyone was staring.

"Well?" Eamonn asked. "What is it?"

"It isn't born yet," Niamh told him. "It's a process. Anyone know the number to the hospital in Cilldargen? Michael didn't want to stop to ring them, the baby's so close. Oh, never mind. I'll run home and get it. Liam?"

"Behind the bar!" he said, hopping off a stool and practically bounding to the beer spigots. Another ripple of cheers went through the room. People began to dance again, and laugh, and shout happily about as Niamh ducked out into the cold, quiet night, and ran head-long into a body.

"Sorry," she said, stepping aside, and then she looked up and felt her heart stop in her chest. "Oh…oh, God. Peter."

"Niamh!" He smiled and hugged her, and she glanced over her shoulder, but the door was shut and – thank God - no one else knew. She took a breath.

"Hello, Peter," he supplied for her in falsetto. "It's good to see you, Peter. You're looking well." He grinned. "It's good to see you, too, Niamh."

"It is good to see you," she politely said, and then shook her head. "No, no it's not. Peter, please don't take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?"

His smiled faltered, and she could see from the light streaming out of the pub that he seemed confused by her response. "Erm," he said, "I'm wondering how the right way to take it might be."

"We didn't think you were coming back."

This seemed to surprise him, and he glanced past her and into the pub. "How is she?"

"Devastated. Destroyed. Where have you been?" She hit him square in the chest, hard enough for him to wince. "No phone calls, no letters – does the Vatican not have its own postage stamps? Peter, honestly! What were you thinking?"

"I was forbidden to contact her. Or anyone, really. I've only just been released from my vows this morning. Or yesterday – I'm afraid they're all running together at the seams just now. Where is she? I'll explain-"

"Have you come back to stay, then? Really?"

"Of course…Niamh? Oh, Niamh, don't cry."

She jumped at him, threw her arms around him, but her belly got in the way of a proper hug. "You stupid, stupid man. Tell me that you've left the priesthood for her, because if you haven't, then you turn around right now and walk away. She can't handle to see you now only to have you-"

"I'm not a priest anymore."

A whimper escaped Niamh, and for a moment she was stunned into silence. It was the answer she wanted, and still… "Oh."

"I know. That first realization twinges a bit. Is she just inside?"

"Peter." She caught his arm as he pulled away from her.

"It's been so long, Niamh. I want to see her."

"It's not so simple as that." How was she to put into words the last six months? "Peter…"

"It is a party?" he said, gazing through the frosted door windows with a smile.

"Siobhan and Brendan got married today."

"Did they? Oh, I'm sorry I missed that."

"Siobhan's off having the baby just now."

"That's wonderful!"

"Yeah. Listen, you can't just walk in there, you know."

"I can't?"

"No."

"Niamh, I want to see her."

"She's…she's not going to want to see you, Peter."

"What? Of course she…oh. Oh, God. Niamh, what are you telling me?"

Her mind was a whirl. She had to act fast; get him out of the street where anyone could happen on him and send Assumpta into a fit. "No, not in front of the whole town. Why not go back to my place and I'll bring her to see you."

Peter's expression dropped. "Niamh-"

"She has episodes. Michael says they're like anxiety attacks, and while they've been getting better, the last couple of days have been very stressful. The wedding has taken a bit of doing…"

"Anxiety attacks? Assumpta? And here I thought you were telling me she got married again."

"She's remote at the best of times now. I mean, she's much better than she used to be, but she's not how you remember her. Assumpta's…you broke her heart, Peter, and it did something to her. She mourned you, and she's never recovered."

Peter shook his head. "But…I'm here."

"You weren't."

"I was always coming back."

"Did you tell her that? Because I've got to be honest with you, none of us thought to ever see you again."

"But how – you know how I feel about her! She knows how I feel about her! I gave up my vocation for her!"

"All she knows is that you were going to see Father Mac and you never came back."

"I couldn't!"

"You can't just walk in there, Peter. Let me prepare her. Give me some time to-"

"I'm not leaving without seeing her." He brushed past Niamh, and opened the pub door before Niamh could stop him. Several people gasped, and slowly the room stilled. The music died away. Niamh held her breath as Peter stepped in, and people parted around him. Assumpta stood frozen behind the bar.

"Holy Mother of God," Liam said, breathless.

Peter didn't seem to notice. He took another step toward Assumpta, and even with the bar between them she took a step back and bumped into Ambrose, whose eyes were wide as saucers.

"Easy," he said, catching Assumpta as she faltered a little.

"I've missed you," Peter said, trying again, but Assumpta only stared. "I'm…I'm back."

There was a long moment when no one in the pub breathed.

"You're very tan," she said at last.

"It's hot in Italy. They've a lot of sun."

"A lot of beaches in Italy, yeah?"

"No…not in the Vatican, and the whole time I was there I wasn't allowed to leave."

"Held you hostage, did they?"

"They held my release hostage, yes."

"In the Vatican? Do you expect I'm impressed?"

"Impress…? Assumpta?" Even from across the room Niamh could see she was shaking. "No. Not impressed. I…I didn't mean to be gone so long."

"You should've waited at my place," Niamh grumbled at him under her breath.

Another face caught Peter's attention, though, and he said a quiet, "Hello, Father Mac."

"Mr. Clifford." His expression was guarded, wary, and Peter knew he'd get no further help there.

Peter turned back to Assumpta. "I'm sorry I was gone so long. Terribly sorry. Won't happen again."

"Mm," Assumpta said.

"I've come home. For you," he told her. "I'm not a priest anymore. We can…we can get married now."

Someone gave a little gasp, and Peter's jaw clenched. Niamh's stomach kicked. The tension left her shaking.

"Six months and five days," Assumpta said slowly in a low, controlled voice.

"I know."

"I never thought to see you again."

"I'm sorry."

"I thought you'd changed your mind."

"Never."

"I thought you were dead."

"Assumpta-"

"Because death is the only thing that would've kept me from you." Her voice broke on that last word, and with it, the mask of calm. Her face crumpled, her chin quivered, and she sucked in a deep breath.

"Assumpta, I couldn't contact-"

She slammed a glass down on the bar to silence him, and it shattered in her hand. Peter took a leap forward to her, but she held up her bleeding palm to stop him.

"You were the one person I trusted, the one person in all the world I allowed myself to believe in, Peter. I let my guard down because I thought I knew the kind of man you are. You said you loved me-"

"I do!"

"You left!"

"Don't you know? Assumpta, I left so we could be together!"

Her expression turned incredulous and, while she was distracted, Ambrose quickly grabbed her hand and shoved a towel in it. "You went all the way to Italy," she began with a low, dangerous voice, "on your own – so we could be together? Do you think I'm a complete idiot? No, you went to Rome, to the Vatican, for you! For you! You stayed there for six bleeding months and wallowed in your own self-importance and your own religious gratification – no, Peter, I don't want to hear it! You can tell yourself anything you want, but you never left for me!"

"But I did! I did it for us!"

"That's like saying I married Leo for us!"

Peter made a face. "It always comes back to Leo, doesn't it?" he bit out.

"Go to hell!"

Eamonn gasped and Peter straightened as the strength of her blow hit him. Niamh could tell he hadn't expected that. She wished she could say the same.

"Assumpta," Ambrose whispered. "Your hand."

"It's good," she said and jerked her hand away from him. She pressed the towel into her palm and stared angrily at a beer mat on the bar.

"Assumpta…it's me," Peter said. "You know me."

"I don't," she told him, not raising her eyes. "I thought I did, but I don't."

"You do."

"No," she staunchly said, and then shook her head and wiped her cheek with the back of her good hand. "Brian Quigley!" Niamh glanced over and saw her father shrink down in his seat at the bar. "You want the pub? It's yours. I want out of this Godforsaken town. Hell, I want out of this Godforsaken life. Thanks for coming back, Peter. Now get out!"

Niamh held her hand up to temper her father's surprise. He wasn't getting the bar that easily. "Now just you wait," she told him. He gave her an innocent shrug, one that she was all too familiar with.

"Assumpta, don't do this," Peter pleaded.

"Do what? Sell out? You did."

His expression went grim. He shook his head. "I am sorry. I see now that I've hurt you terribly – Assumpta, you must know I never intended to hurt you. Not you. I'm so very sorry-"

"Yeah, well, I don't want your apology!"

"What do you want?"

"I already told you," she said. "Go to hell." She peeked under the towel at her hand, and then grabbed a second towel.

"That's dirty," Ambrose objected. Assumpta glared and he cleared his throat, stepped back from her.

Peter's mouth thinned to nothing more than a line, and his face darkened as tears welled in his eyes. "I came back for you. I love...you." The words were thick with emotion, and Assumpta closed her eyes against it. "Assumpt..."

She broke down completely then, and fled into the kitchen. A couple of seconds later they heard the back door slam shut.

"She'll be off to the grotto, so," Ambrose said.

"She spends a great deal of time up there," Niamh quietly told Peter.

"It's too dark," he said. "She's hurt. I should go after her."

Half the room groaned, and Paraig shook his head. "You can't be serious."

"You'll go after her, then?" Peter asked.

"Not me," Paraig told him. "Not when she's like this."

"It doesn't matter. It should be me," Peter decided. "I've got to fix this."

Obviously, Peter needed a dose of commonsense. "Give her some time," Niamh urged. "It was a terrible shock."

"She's had six months," Peter told her. "Six months, and look what it's cost her. If she's going to hate me, then she's going to hate me, but I won't have her thinking that I've abandoned her."

The phone rang again and startled Niamh. She scowled at its bad timing, and as she made her way over to it, she caught a glimpse of Peter as he pointed a finger at Niamh's father. "You don't get the pub. At least until she calms down and she's thinking more clearly."

"No worries, Peter. At least on my account."

"Fitzgerald's," Niamh answered. The voice on the other end was happy and laughing. "Oh, my…that's wonderful, Brendan! Oh, wonderful! Congratulations! Everyone, they had a girl!" The applause was subdued. "Give our love to the new mother and child…and Brendan, when you're ready for it, we have a bit of news ourselves." Niamh turned just as Peter was heading out the door. "Erm…Brendan, not now. I've gotta run." She hung up and hurried after Peter.

He stood, hands in pockets, staring up at the stars. As Niamh stepped beside him, he sighed. "Where did it all go wrong?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"I had to go, Niamh. The Bishop was going to deny my petition. And if he had, and I left the priesthood anyway, I would've been excommunicated. I had to go with him, there and then."

"But you were gone six months."

"Will she forgive me, do you think?"

"She loves you."

"Still?" he said with a hopeful snort. "But, that's not what I asked."

"It's the only answer I have. Assumpta's…not the same. Are you sure you still want her?"

He gave her an incredulous look, "Are you kidding?"

She sighed, looked out into the night. There was so much to tell him. Too much. "She went to Father Mac over and over to beg for information on you. You've no idea what that did to her. She even tried to ring the Vatican."

"She didn't."

"She's got the phone bills to prove it, I'm afraid. She couldn't pay the heating bill, but she called Italy. She did everything she could've short of getting on a plane to fetch you back, and I think she would've done that if she had any cash on hand. The pub's struggling. Assumpta's struggling. And for you to return looking right as rain, and with a tan to boot…Peter, I wish you would've waited. She could've done with a bit of preparing."

He looked up at the moon, and then something drew his attention. Niamh followed his gaze and saw a figure standing on the bridge looking down at the water. So, she hadn't made it to the grotto after all. Maybe she wanted to be found.

"Good luck," Niamh said, and she gave him a supportive pat on the back. "But know, Peter, Assumpta wasn't the only one upset when you left. You were sorely missed."

He smiled at her. "Thanks. I missed you, too. I missed this place." And his eyes fall on Assumpta again.

"Win her, Peter."

"I will. I have to."

Assumpta leaned heavily on the stone railing and stared down at the moon reflected in the slowly moving water. Inhale, exhale. Her hand hurt. She pressed her other hand into it, and stared up at the sky. How dare it be a beautiful night? It should've been raining. It should've been as wretched as she felt.

Peter was in her pub. And what had she done? She'd run. She'd yelled and cursed and run.

A sob spasmed through her, and she dropped her covered her mouth to keep from crying out. Peter was in her pub. Months ago she would've given anything for that, but now…she didn't know. She didn't want to feel the sense of relief, or the anger that twisted inside her. She didn't want to want to touch him as much as she had, and she didn't want to feel the panic; the urge to run, the need to hide. She sucked in a breath and willed the tears away. No, she would not succumb completely to emotion. She would not be reduced to a sniveling pile of-

"Assumpta?"

She turned away from him, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. He'd followed after her. Why had she not anticipated that?

"Assumpta, please. Let's talk this through."

She shook her head, stepped away, but a heavy hand on her shoulder stopped her. He was touching her, he was real. Really there. "Peter." It was the first time she'd said his name in months, and it shook something inside her. "Please, go away."

"Assumpta, look at me."

"Go away, Peter. It's what you're good at."

"No."

She shrank away from his hand, pressed back against the bridge rail and resolutely kept her eyes on the road while she fisted the towel in her hand, and focused on that pain. "Leave me alone."

"Never again."

It was ridiculous, his firm response – so much so that she laughed, and it came out as another aching sob. She hid her face in her hand while the other pressed into her stomach. Her chest felt as if it was clamped in a vice. She wanted to touch him so badly that she hated herself for it.

"You can't do this to me. Not again. I can't…" It was little more than a whisper and all she could manage. "It's not fair."

"I was always coming back, Assumpta. I thought you knew…I thought you understood how I feel about you. We're meant to be togeth-"

"Stop!" She shook her head. She wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't be caught up again. He grabbed her before she was three steps away, his arms tight around her middle. She fought, kicked, turned so she could punch him, and then they were face to face and she saw the tears on his cheeks, the anguish in his eyes.

"We'll work it through," he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "We'll be okay."

She let him hold her, and pressed her head to his chest so she wouldn't have to look at him. Somehow her arms were already around his neck. He was solid against her, warm, and in a moment of weakness, she breathed him in. "Why did you have to come back? It's like it's happening all over again."

"Like what's happening? I'm not going...Assumpta? You're shaking."

"Please let go of me." But when he did, she was horrified to find she wanted him back. She reached out for the stone rail again, searching for stability and finding only cold.

"You hate me, then? I don't believe it."

Did she hate him? She had told herself that she did, and she had believed it until he stepped through her door and the whole world came to a screeching halt. Did she hate him? Could she? She wanted to.

"I honestly had no idea," he said. "If I had…Assumpta I'd thought - I'd hoped - that you were missing me as much as I was missing you. I thought about you every day, all day, and all night. I missed you so much that there were times when I could hear your voice in my head as clearly as if you were standing there talking to me. And, I knew that if you were missing me even half as much as I as missing you, it wouldn't be easy on you. But never once did it occur to me that you'd doubt that I was coming back for you."

"Six months."

He nodded. "Is a long time. Yes."

"A long time? A long time?"

"That day I went to see Father Mac, Bishop Costello was there. He asked if I'd prayed over the decision to leave the priesthood, and I made the mistake of telling him that I couldn't pray – that I hadn't prayed in weeks. Of course he felt he had to intervene, for my own good. He said he wouldn't sign my petition and pass it on to the cardinal unless I went on retreat. Rome was his idea."

"You didn't say good-bye."

"I tried. I called, but it was from a payphone in the toilets at the airport. It was the only time I was out of the bishop's company until he dropped me off like an orphan at the Vatican. I was forbidden – I know, Assumpta, I know. But it's the truth. I was forbidden to speak or write or contact anyone. And yes, I was a bit starry-eyed being there. But the whole time all I wanted was to be back here with you. And if I'd known what you were going through – no, I should've known. I should've found a way." He stepped closer, and she pressed back against the rail. "I am sorry. Do you believe me?"

But, he wasn't asking for her belief, he was asking for her forgiveness, and she wasn't prepared to give that. Ever.

"Do you hate me, Assumpta?"

"No." It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and she was surprised by the answer. A fresh stream of tears rolled down her face. "I should."

Peter turned and looked back toward the pub, and Assumpta was able to glance at him. His eyes, his mouth…God, she'd missed him so much. He was wincing, thinking, trying to find the words that would make her forget all the pain that the last six months had cost her. But there were no words; she knew it and he would soon.

"I think…" she said quietly, cautiously as she looked back out over the river. "I think I could forgive you. In time. But I don't think I'll ever trust you again. That's gone."

"Brutally honest to the bitter end, eh?" He smiled, and it transformed his whole face by moonlight into something that tugged at her heart. "There's the Assumpta that I know and love."

"I can't believe you're standing there."

"I can't believe you're standing there," he said, "and not over here, in my arms."

"Don't do this to me," she cried, and he held up his hands in helpless surrender.

"Do what? I'm not doing anything."

"Don't make me want you."

"You want me?" A lopsided grin lifted his face, and it tugged unmercifully at her.

"Stop it."

"I know that you're angry. And, what's more, I understand it. But, Assumpta, can't you be angry at me and glad to see me, too?"

"No," she insisted, but the absurd turn in their conversation struck her as funny, and she fought the smile and the giddiness that came with it. And then she fought down the panic that followed. More tears blurred her vision, and she shook her head but the emotions wouldn't recede.

"Assumpta?"

She couldn't answer; her voice was buried under the onslaught of fear and grief. She would not love him again. She would not.

"No? No what?" he asked, clearly confused that she continued to shake her head. "Are you breathing? Assumpta, breathe!"

She gasped, and a strangled cry erupted, and in the next moment he was there with his arms around her, his warmth against her cheek, his softly whispered words in her ear. He held her as she wept and everything inside her poured out. He brushed the hair from her face, and told her that it was all right, that he was there and everything would be fine now, and then he said her name over and over while he slowly rocked.

It took a small eternity, but when pressure in her chest eased a bit, and the tears stopped, he gently lifted her chin and she looked into his eyes – his intelligent, gentle, loving eyes. He looked tired, worried, upset. He smiled for her. Her heart clenched just as it had always done, as if he hadn't been gone half a year, as if it hadn't been broken to bits at all.

"Damn you," she muttered, and pushed him away. "I'm not done being angry with you yet. Don't make this all right. It's not all right. You can't just sweep in here and make everything all right."

"Then I suspect a kiss is out of the question." He suppressed a grin when he said it. He had to know what he was doing to her, because he gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well, then. Shall I walk you back to the pub, then? There is a party – oh! And Siobhan had the baby. She's a girl."

The pub. The party. There were too many people there, and she didn't want their eyes on her.

"We could just walk," Peter suggested. "If it's not too cool for you."

We. Why did that one word bother her so much?

"Or…I…" He faltered, shuffled his feet like a nervous boy, and Assumpta nearly went out of her skin. She grabbed his head, pulled it down and planted a hard kiss on his mouth. It took half a second for Peter to respond, and then his arms went around her and his mouth moved easily against hers. One kiss became two, became three, and she arched closer to him, wove her fingers through his hair. Emotion flooded again, but she didn't care anymore. She kissed him until the anger in her turned tender, her mouth felt swollen, and they were both gasping.

"Wow," he breathed.

"Yeah."

"I love you."

Assumpta stepped away, wiped the moisture from her mouth. "Tell me you're back to stay."

"I'm back to stay."

"Promise you won't leave me again."

"I promise."

"Tell me you're not a priest."

"I'm not a priest anymore."

The moon was bright enough to glitter on the river.

"I don't forgive you yet," she told him.

"I can live with that."

"I dated Enda Sullivan while you were gone."

"I…what?"

"I'd rather you didn't find out from Kathleen or…they think we slept together, but we didn't. We almost did. We could have. He was more than willing, and I…"

He stared into her eyes, his face having gone sickly and stern. "You're testing me."

"It's true, though."

"Assumpta, I'm not leaving."

"And…and if I'd slept with him?"

His jaw clenched. "I love you. You'll have to throw more at me than that to get me to leave."

"I killed a man."

"Oh, come on! You did not!"

She smirked. "No." But she had dated Enda, however briefly, and they had almost had sex on his couch, and probably would have if Fergal hadn't caught them. Or if she hadn't slipped up and said Peter's name.

"Let me walk you back to the pub," he said.

She shook her head. "I'm not ready to face them. Walk with me along the river?"

"Gladly." They headed out of town, to where the trail through the wood led down to the riverbank. Peter took Assumpta's hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm.

"Enda never occurred to me," Peter said after a while. "I never thought you liked him over much."

"I didn't."

She could feel his glance on her, but she didn't elaborate. She wasn't entirely certain she understood herself why she'd gone out with Enda. "But if Enda hadn't occurred to you, then someone else did."

"Of course. I mean, I knew you'd wait, but as the weeks turned into months I – was concerned – that…well…I was there a month before I was able to find the peace within myself to pray again, and after that I spent a disproportionate part of my day…and some very long nights…praying that you wouldn't ring Leo."

"Is that…Mrs. McGarvey?" Alana sounded as surprised as Kevin felt. That was one of the great things about her, they always seemed to experience the same things in the same way.

"Yeah."

"And, who's that with her?"

She didn't recognize Father Peter in the dark, and from the distance of a good three hundred feet, but Kevin did. "Never mind. Let's just get back to my house and listen to some CDs."

"Wait." She grabbed his arm and held it while she stood and watched the two adults on the bridge. Kevin glanced down at her hand. He loved it when she touched him, especially when she didn't even seem to notice she was doing it.

"That's not Mr. McGarvey, is it?"

"No."

"Da said they got a divorce."

"An annulment," Kevin corrected.

"It's mostly the same thing," Alana said with a shrug. "Do you think she…" Her voice trailed away, and Kevin looked over to see what she was gaping at. Mrs. McGarvey and Father Peter kissing.

"Can't we go now?"

She didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't even blink, and Kevin yanked his arm a little to get her attention. "Hey. It's not polite to stare."

"They don't know we're even here."

"I know."

She grinned at him. "You're blushing."

"Am not."

"Well, it is a bit embarrassing," she said sympathetically. "But don't you think it's…"

"No." Even though he did. He thought it was every bit as sexy as he knew she did, and it bothered him. Mrs. McGarvey – Fitzgerald – whatever, she was…well, really old. "Come on."

"Yeah. Okay." Alana slipped her hand into his, and squeezed. "I didn't think it was, either," she said quietly, self-consciously.

Kevin grinned, and looked at her from the corner of his eye. "You reckon when we're as ancient as they are, that we'll kiss like that, too?"

She tried not to smile, and it made him laugh.

There is a magical moment in every day that only parents can truly appreciate. It can occur at any time, but generally it falls just after two in the morning when exhaustion blurs the memories of the day before, and there are hours yet before the day to follow has to be considered; it's a time when the parent knows with absolute certainty that the child is safe and content and lost to a world of dreams filled with sweeties and toys. It was that moment when Ambrose was most certain of himself and the choices he'd made. He knew that he loved his son, and he loved his wife, and everything was just as it should be.

It was good that everything was as it should be.

Slowly he closed Kieran's door, and then peaked in at Niamh. She was breathing deeply in her sleep, curled on her side around the mound that would become their second child someday soon. A girl this time, Ambrose hoped, though he told everyone who asked that he didn't care as long as it was healthy. And, he didn't care much, but a girl would be nice; then they'd have the set.

The party was a bit much for Niamh, and it had taken next to nothing for Ambrose to send her home early. He would talk to her about taking it easy over breakfast, and perhaps, now that Peter was back…no, he dared not hope on that account. Peter's reception had been better than Ambrose might've expected – Assumpta hadn't killed him with her bare hands, for instance – but it had been fairly clear to everyone in the pub that Peter's return wouldn't be enough to fix what had been broken. And, quite frankly, Ambrose was stunned that Peter had turned up at all – and as a layman to boot. Well, that wasn't as it should be.

Leaving the bedroom door open so Niamh could hear the baby if need be, Ambrose stepped quietly down the stairs, collected his jacket, and slipped out the door. It was a dry, crisp night, and at that hour no one was about. The reception had died down at about an hour before, and Ambrose had locked up after the last stragglers had stumbled out into the night. He'd driven two friends home, and then checked on his own family. And now, Ambrose had a pub to put back together before he could find his own bed because he didn't want Niamh to have to do it in the morning. And after Assumpta's shock, he doubted she'd even think to open the pub again for days. In fact, he thought, once he tidied the bar, he should drive 'round to the grotto and collect Assumpta, too. No sense letting her sleep there again, it only made her more difficult to deal with afterward.

He opened the door, and left it wide to air the place out a bit, and then began collecting glasses and stacking them on the bar. He had a system worked out, and could have the place back to normal in about an hour most nights, but as he glanced around he thought perhaps two was more realistic.

And then he heard footsteps. He turned as Assumpta walked through the door with Peter just behind her. They looked…surprised to see him, actually.

"Hello," Ambrose said, tentatively. He wasn't certain what to expect, though Assumpta looked right enough. Peter smiled.

"Go home, Ambrose," Assumpta said as she picked up where he'd left off, collecting plates and glasses. "Thanks for covering for me."

"No problem," he said. "Niamh was exhausted, but I can help with the washing up."

"Go," Peter said with a reassuring nod. "I'm here now. I'll help."

"But…" Ambrose wasn't sure just what to make of that. He looked from Peter to Assumpta, who didn't seem in the least disturbed or upset by Peter's apparent declaration. Had it been a declaration? "I don't mind helping."

Assumpta shrugged. "We can manage."

They were already busy, and neither seemed overly concerned about the pub or where Peter was going to sleep. At Fitzgerald's presumably, though Ambrose briefly wondered if he should offer Peter a couch for propriety's sake. Peter was still a Catholic, wasn't he? Surely he wouldn't be staying with Assumpta in her flat. But then, he remembered that it had been Peter who'd told him that he should move in with Niamh before they got married to try out the roles of husband and wife – with one minor exception.

"I'll just be leaving then," Ambrose said, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door.

"Night," Peter said with a smile. Assumpta nodded, yawned and covered it with the back of her hand, and then collected an armful of glasses and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ambrose took the opportunity to step closer to Peter. "Everything all right, then?"

"No," Peter told him, "but it will be."

"I've got a spare couch-"

"Thank you, Ambrose, but I've got a place to stay." He wore a cryptic smile when he said it, and Ambrose tried very hard not to decipher it. The less he knew about it the better.

"Right, then. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight.

"Oh, and Peter…it's good to have you back."

"Good to be had."

Ambrose left then, and slipped into bed next to his sleeping wife, kissed her shoulder, and then sighed. He was tired, yes, but he felt good, too.

The door shut, and Peter looked up from the bar just as Assumpta walked in from the kitchen, and their gazes locked. Strolling out in the night, hand in hand, he hadn't been able to really read her expression, but inside the pub there was no mistaking the worry and apprehension. It hadn't been the homecoming he'd expected. So very little with Assumpta was ever as he expected it to be.

"You looked knackered," he told her. "I can take care of this. Go on up and get some sleep."

"You're going to tidy the pub?" she asked with a raised brow. "You look knackered, too."

He was running on fumes. How many hours had he been awake now? A flight from Rome to Paris, waiting in Paris, and then another flight to London where there was more waiting before catching a plane to Dublin. And then there was more waiting for the bus down to BallyK.

"I really want to kiss you now," Assumpta said, wearing the same troubled expression. But all Peter heard was "want" and "kiss" and in his head that meant she forgave him.

"Oh, thank God."

"And I want to hit you," she added. Peter's joy fizzled. "I want to send you packing, and I want to throw you on the floor and have my way with you."

An interesting image formed in his mind, and Peter swallowed. He wasn't yet comfortable with the casual idea of sex, even though there was a significant part of him that wanted to do the same to her. Years of self-conditioning were hard to ignore, and being relieved of his vows didn't stop the old defense mechanisms from falling into place. In the past, he would've stepped back, smiled, and said something about different kinds of love and different kinds of families. It was what he'd said to Jenny…but this wasn't Jenny who was looking at him so broken, so fragile. Assumpta was so much more.

"Peter…" She shook her head, ran a hand through her hair. She looked exhausted. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Anything you want." He looked down at the bar to gather a breath, and then met her eyes again. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." When she didn't immediately respond he added, "Well, not now. You're a bit of a mess now. But even now you're gorgeous."

"I can't believe you're here," she said quietly. "I keep thinking that when I look away you'll have evaporated and I'll find out it was all a delusion."

"I'm really here, Assumpta."

She smirked. "All my delusions say that."

"Let's go to bed."

Her eyes rounded, and her jaw dropped as she tried to form a response, and he was certain that if she'd had any color in her face, it would've drained away.

"To sleep," he added. "There's nothing here that won't keep until the morning."

Slowly she looked around, as if searching for some sort of answer. She chewed her lip, sighed. And then, she looked at Peter with an intensity that stole his breath.

"All right," she said. The two words were heavy between them.

"All right," he echoed.

All right.

Niamh spent the first hour of her morning kneeling in the bathroom, hating life and cursing Ambrose Eagan for ever touching her. She spent the second hour devouring everything edible in the house. Once Ambrose's mother arrived to tend to Kieran, Niamh made her way to the pub and instantly regretted it. She should've just gone back to bed after the first hour, she decided, glaring at the devastation that surrounded her in the bar. For the thousandth time she wondered just what she'd gotten herself into.

And then she remembered Peter.

The place was quiet and still – Assumpta hadn't made it down yet. Visions of her friend neck deep in a bottle of Jamison came to mind, and Niamh hurried up the stairs to the back door of Assumpta's flat. She banged her fist on the door – hard enough to break through a drunken haze, she hoped.

"Assumpta! Are you in there? Assumpta, wake up! I've got my key, Assumpta, I'm coming-"

"Niamh?" A familiar man's voice.

She turned to see Peter standing down the corridor in one of the guest room doors, wearing boxers and a jumper. He seemed to realize belatedly his state of undress, rolled his eyes, and closed the door. Niamh heard voices – as in Peter's and a woman's.

"Oh, my God," she gasped, and a hand shot to her mouth. Peter and Assumpta in the same room. It was a good thing, she knew, but it came as something of a shock. He'd only just arrived back, and Assumpta…well, it was something of a shock.

Niamh turned and made it halfway down the stairs before Peter called her name again. When she glanced back, he was wearing a pair of jeans.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You sounded upset."

She shook her head, and looked down the stairs. She could feel the color creeping into her face. "I'm just going to tidy up the bar."

"No, I'll do it. Me and Assumpta. It was just a late night, is all. We overslept."

And the heat in Niamh's cheeks bloomed. "I bet you did."

"Sorry?" He seemed confused.

She glanced back at the guestroom, but Assumpta hadn't emerged. She stepped closer to Peter and whisper, "You'll be careful with her, won't you?"

He lowered his voice down to Niamh's level. "Careful with…Assumpta, you mean? Of course."

"Of course," Niamh said. Of course he would.

"Niamh, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"

"No," she said before she felt it. A queasy dizziness swept over her, and her vision tunneled down to pinpricks. She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't catch her balance, and the next thing she knew there were hands on her, and someone shouting, and she was being lifted. And then she was lying on something, and someone was calling her name from a long, long way off.

"…the doctor?"

"He's on his way."

"And Ambrose?"

"His mother's looking for him."

Niamh blinked and the room came into focus – Assumpta's room. Peter leaned over her, with a worried smile. He was touching her forehead, smoothing the hair back from her face, and Assumpta was just over his shoulder holding a glass of water, wearing a t-shirt five sizes too big for her, and pajama trousers. She looked like she just woke up.

"Easy," Peter said, and he gently pressed her back down on to the bed. "Let's just wait for Michael to arrive."

"I'm all right," Niamh insisted, and she felt down to the baby. It gave a reassuring kick to her palm. "We're all right."

"Assumpta?" Michael called from the front door.

"We're up here. She's better now."

Peter got up so the doctor could see her, and when Michael looked in the room he gave Niamh a knowing look. "You didn't take it easy, did you? I warned you." He kneeled beside her and took her wrist in his cold hands, and she watched as he found her pulse. He looked at his watch. "You take on too much, Niamh."

"I know, I know." Her blood pressure was an issue, just as it had been with her last pregnancy. "I got seven hours of sleep last night."

"You were up most of the night working the party," the doctor said. "I was there, remember? You should be resting today. Niamh we've talked about this." He pulled out a blood pressure cuff from his bag, and glanced at Peter and Assumpta over his shoulder.

"I'm going to examine her now," he said.

"Right." Assumpta followed Peter into the living room, just as Ambrose came bounding up the stair. "She's all right," Assumpta said in preemptive assurance. Dr. Ryan is in with her now."

"She fainted, didn't she?" Ambrose asked, and then when Peter nodded, he turned and whimpered, "God." Then he pointed a finger at Assumpta. "I don't want her working for you anymore. At least not until the baby comes…no, and not after either. She needs rest, not your bedlam."

"Easy," Peter cautioned.

Assumpta was stunned. "Bedlam?" Was that how he saw her? Was that how they all thought of her? As mad? She might've dismissed it, but Ambrose's lingering accusatory gaze drove the word home.

Michael came in from the bedroom and closed the door behind himself. "She does need rest," he said. "And she needs a bit of pampering. I want her off her feet as much as possible. There's to be no cooking or cleaning or market visits in her future until that baby is delivered."

"Of course," Peter said. "We'll do whatever is necessary."

"We?" Ambrose challenged.

"Well, yes. We all care about Niamh-"

"I can take care of my wife," Ambrose insisted. "You take care of your…" He looked pointedly at Assumpta.

"Take care of?" she asked, outraged. "Niamh is my friend, and I will-"

"You will not!" Ambrose practically shouted.

"But surly you'll need help," Peter said.

But Peter was missing the point. "You blame me for this?" Assumpta asked, though she knew the answer.

"She might've lost our child today!"

"Now, now," Michael said, "we're getting worked up over nothing. Ambrose, go see to your wife. I don't want her moving for another hour or so, until her pressure comes down some."

Ambrose glared at Assumpta, and then disappeared into the bedroom.

"She is going to be all right?" Peter asked the doctor.

Michael nodded. "Yes, I think so. But this blood pressure thing she's got, it's deadly stuff. I'm serious when I say she needs rest. Ambrose wasn't far off. Today might well have ended differently. She really can't tolerate stress this late in her pregnancy."

"I do not make stress!" Assumpta told him.

He raised his brows, cocked his head to the side and considered Assumpta. "And, how are you feeling?"

She closed her eyes. The last thing she needed was Michael breathing down her neck again. "No more tablets," she said, padding into the kitchen. Electric kettle, water, cup, tea.

"We should talk," Michael said, and then he glanced at Peter. "But when it's more convenient."

"Mm," Asssumpta said.

Michael let himself out, and Peter wandered into the small kitchen and leaned against the worktop.

"Tea?" Assumpta asked.

"Please."

She pulled another cup down from the shelf. He was watching her, and she wished he wouldn't. She was tired.

"Niamh's spell wasn't your fault."

"I know that," she snapped. But it was. Ambrose was right. Niamh had been a good friend, and it might've cost her her baby. "I should've sent her home."

"Assumpta," Peter admonished.

"Not last night. I mean, when she first started…it won't have helped. In the end, everything that she and Ambrose have done…I'll lose the pub anyway. I should've sold it years-" And then she remembered. "Oh, God! I sold the pub to Quigley."

"No. He knows you were just upset. He won't hold you to it."

And there was the Peter she knew, forever trusting and naive. Of course Brian would hold her to it, not that it mattered. "The pub is sinking. I'm thousands of quid in debt now."

"We'll figure something out."

And there was that "we" again. "So, you think things will get better when my ex-priest boyfriend moves in? Now there will be two of us to hate instead of one."

"I could stay with Paraig, if you like. If me staying here is too close for comfort. I'm sure he'd lend me a couch until I can find something more permanent."

And again, Peter missed it. "You need to find a job," she said. "I can't support us. I can't even support me."

"Come here." He opened his arms to her, and she wanted so badly to walk into them. No, that way lies madness, she told herself. She'd spent half the night in his arms, lying there while her body hummed alive, and her heart rebelled against her protesting mind. They'd not even kissed, did nothing more than sleep, and still Assumpta felt as if she'd betrayed every moment she'd suffered while he was gone. She'd been afraid, though, to let him out of her sight; afraid he'd evaporate like a dream.

He frowned when she turned away from him and leaned on the worktop beside him. "Assumpta, you were the one who told me that when two people are meant to be together there's no force on this earth that can keep them apart. Remember that? You told me that you can delay the inevitable, but if it's meant to be, it's meant to be."

"Are we meant to be, then?"

"Aren't we?"

She used to think so.

"Assumpta, I know you're angry. I know I've hurt you. But…don't you love me anymore?"

Only Peter would ask like that, like a little boy searching for a hug. "It's not as simple as that."

"Simple as love? Love is the hardest, most complicated, most wonderful thing I've ever experienced."

Assumpta smirked. "Wait until you try sex," she deadpanned.

"I'm serious."

"Yeah, I know." She took a breath, and the kettle began to whistle. She took the excuse to not think for a moment, and just pour their water.

"Of course I'll find work," Peter said once she handed him his cup. "So don't worry about that. I'll get three jobs if that what it'll take to get Fitzgerald's back on its feet again. But as long as we love each other, everything else will work itself out."

"I don't want you to get three jobs. I don't want you to take care of me, or my pub."

"But I want to help. And, after we're married-"

"Married! Peter, I'm not going to marry you." She shook her head and walked past him into the living room. Out the window, the morning looked like rain.

"But…" He followed her. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You think I'm going to leave again, don't you?"

"I'm too tired to row with you, Peter."

"I'm not leaving, and I'm not going to let you push me away. I belong with you, Assumpta. It's why I've done this – why we've both given up so much."

"What? To get married?"

"Why did you get your marriage annulled if not to marry me?"

"Well, to be fair, I'm not going to marry anyone."

"You're not taking this seriously."

"Look, I was married once and I didn't much care for it."

"You married the wrong man."

"I rather think he married the wrong woman."

Peter shook his head. "This isn't a laugh, Assumpta."

"No, it's not. And you can't just walk in here after half a year and expect me to play dutiful wife! I thought I made that very clear last night."

"No one expects that," he grumbled.

Ambrose stepped out of the bedroom, sized up Peter and Assumpta, and then gave them both a curt nod before he headed down to the front door.

"I'm going to see to Niamh now," Assumpta said as she headed to the bedroom.

"We're not done here."

"Yeah? Well, we will be," she muttered. "You'll see."